


You got me going again

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sharing a Bed, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: Henry Tudor is a royal pain in Lizzie's ass in a hundred different ways.But then a hotel mixup and a gossip column lead to a totally unexpected (or maybe totally and completely expected) series of events.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abagail_Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagail_Snow/gifts), [thefairfleming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/gifts).



“Whatever it is, the answer’s no,” Lizzie said with her eyes still on the pile of papers on her desk.

 

Henry paused and she knew without looking up that his jaw tensed and his nostrils flared.  “It wasn’t a question,” he bit out.  “We have to present to the American investors next week.  They’ll want to see that we’re working under unified leadership so we’re both going. End of discussion.”

 

He swanned out of her office and Lizzie waited until he was gone to stick out her tongue.  Immature, yes, but Henry Tudor was the bane of her existence.  Her father had built York Industries— pardon,  _ Westminster  _ Industries now— out of nothing, only for this  _ nobody _ to crawl out of some gutter and take it over.  She’d be damned if he got all the glory of securing a new line of investment, however, so apparently, she was going to New York.  An email from Margaret popped up on her screen, confirming the tickets.

 

At least he had the sense to book First Class tickets.  But still, she wrinkled her nose at the idea of spending several days with no one but his royal-pain-in-the-arseness to deal with, and then returned to signing the contracts.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Henry Tudor _

_ 9:13pm _

_ Why did your mother think she would be welcome on this trip? _

 

Elizabeth stopped stuffing brushes into her makeup bag and groaned.   _ Because this company should be hers, not yours _ she wanted to scream, but instead she ran her tongue across her teeth and angrily tapped out a response.

 

_ Elizabeth York _

_ 9:14pm _

_ Perhaps because she doesn’t trust someone with absolutely no qualifications to run a multinational company like ours. _

 

_ Henry Tudor _

_ 9:14pm _

_ You mean like mine. _

 

Elizabeth screeched in frustration, the sound echoing around her bathroom.

 

_ Elizabeth York _

_ 9:14pm _

_ Buying something doesn’t make it yours.  But I can’t imagine someone like you would know that. _

 

_ Elizabeth York _

_ 9:14pm _

_ How much did your last date cost, by the way? _

 

She felt a vicious surge of satisfaction as the message zoomed away, even if it was a low blow.  And truth be told, she was a little annoyed that her mother had tried to talk Margaret into booking her on the trip too— mostly because the optics were terrible— but she understood her mother’s frustration with being out of the loop after running things for so long.  Lizzie couldn’t imagine being sidelined like that, and she knew her mother was going mad up in Grafton with nothing to do but raise the little ones.  Elizabeth Woodville was not meant to be a housewife, anymore than Lizzie was.  

 

Her phone rattled on the counter with another incoming message.

 

_ Henry Tudor _

_ 9:20pm _

_ You’re a brat, did you know that? _

 

Lizzie made another face at her phone— sooner or later she was going to slip up and do it to the man himself, which would not be good— and continued angrily packing.

 

Three days.  She only had to make it three days.

 

* * *

 

 

The insufferable jackass left her alone for the five hour flight, thanks be to god.  He barely even nodded at her when she arrived in the lounge, and the First Class seats were spaced out enough that Lizzie could put in her earbuds and situate her eye mask without feeling like she was deliberately ignoring him.

 

Which she would have done anyway even if they were flying coach, but still.  She did have to work with the man, after all.

 

They managed LaGuardia with chilly politeness, and he even helped her lug her rather oversized bag from the carousel.  She’d have called the gesture  _ gallant _ from another man, but from Henry she categorized it as  _ deliberately infuriating _ , because that was what he did.  He never did anything just to be  _ nice _ , he did it to throw her off his game.  But two could play at that, so she smiled sweetly at him and cheered when he seemed to stumble a little at the sight.

 

But then they arrived at the hotel and disaster struck.  Margaret— sweet, well meaning Margaret— had somehow only managed to book one room and the rest were full up. Henry’s jaw did the thing again, and Lizzie noticed that it wasn’t unattractive when directed at someone who wasn’t her, but then she heard what he was saying.  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she interrupted.  “This is New York.  There’s other hotels.  I’ll just go elsewhere,” she declared.

 

Henry closed his eyes and visibly steeled himself.  “We’re here to show the investors we’re the picture of fiscal responsibility.  A last minute booking at a luxury hotel just so the princess can have her own room wouldn’t be the best optics.”

 

She laughed at that.  “We just flew here First Class; they will hardly expect us to save money,” she countered.

 

“It will make us look disorganized.”

 

“So it makes us look disorganized,” she said with a shrug.

 

“Fine then.  Book your own hotel and I’ll fire Margaret first thing when we return.”

 

Lizzie’s chuckle died on her lips.  “Fire  _ Margaret? _ ”  She was a little scattered at times, but she was a dear girl.  And she was  _ family _ .

 

“She made a mistake.  A rather large one, when you think about it.”  He smirked, like he’d caught her.

 

“Then we’ll just share,” she said loftily, and wiped the smile right off his smug face.

 

With great effort he returned to the concierge.  “You heard her.  We’re sharing.”  The man flashed them a pained, uncomfortable smile, and handed over the keys.

 

The room, it turned out, was a suite meant to double as an office, which meant it only had one bed and a couch that pulled out.  Lizzie tossed her purse on the bed and Henry raised his eyebrows.  “Who said that was yours?” he asked, handing it back to her and loosening his tie.  “You wanted to share.  You get the pullout.”

 

“I did  _ not _ want to share,” she hissed, but Henry shrugged and went about unpacking his suits.  She narrowed her eyes and decided to concede the battle, if only to win the war.

 

What the war was, exactly, she wasn’t sure.  But she was going to win it.

 

* * *

 

The man in the ill-fitting grey suit shook her hand and leered.  “It was a pleasure to meet such a beautiful young woman,” he said in the manner of middle-aged men who imagined they were flirting with her.  He’d spent the dinner telling her increasingly dull stories about his golf game, clearly thinking she was enthralled with him and not with the money he’d give her company.

 

“And it was lovely to meet such a sparkling wit,” she returned and tried to extricate her hand from his clammy grip.  Next to her, Henry snorted quietly, and she cut a glance at him to find his eyes dancing.  She had to bite back a grin and for a heartbeat, it felt like they were united.

 

Unexpected warmth flooded her chest because Lizzie was loathe to admit it but attempting to undermine the new CEO of your family’s company was a lonely game.  Henry was the enemy, but he was also one of the only people who understood just how lonely it was.  And Lizzie was tired, and not just because the pullout bed had a spring that poked her back no matter where she lay.  She was tired of fighting a war for her mother that she was increasingly doubtful they could win, and she was tired of securing layers of armor around herself every time she approached Henry.

 

He was awful and infuriating, and then there would be moments like this, or like that morning, when he’d silently handed her a cup of tea— no milk, two sugars, and he hadn’t even asked how she took it.  She’d thanked him sarcastically at the time, but there was a tiny part of her, deep down, that wished she could have done so genuinely.

 

“Your jacket, Lizzie,” Henry murmured quietly, and her captor’s eyes darted between them suspiciously.  He let her go and Henry helped her into her coat before they shook hands with the rest of the investors. And then, with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, Henry guided her from the restaurant.

 

The moment they approached the car he dropped the charade and she told herself she was grateful.

 

But she couldn’t help but notice that her skin didn’t exactly crawl at his touch.

 

* * *

 

 

Lizzie turned over in bed and reached for her phone, sighing dramatically.  It was 2am and she was wide awake while the bane of her existence slept peacefully in the king-sized bed that probably had perfect back support and no creaking springs.  Annoyed and cranky, she made her decision and tossed back her covers.

 

Henry roused as she climbed into his bed. “What— what’re you doing?” he mumbled drowsily.

 

“Sleeping.  In a comfortable bed,” she said crisply.  “It’s plenty big enough for the both of us.  Go back to sleep.”

 

He watched her for a moment, his eyes soft, and then he turned away and his breathing deepened.

 

Lizzie sank down into the luxurious softness of a real mattress and told herself that was her only motivation.

 

* * *

 

 

Lizzie was warm.  Warm and comfortable and deliciously happy, the scent of something familiar but enticing filling her nose.  She blinked, the morning light leaking around the edges of the curtains, and shifted a little deeper into his arms.

 

His  _ arms. _  She froze like a deer caught in the crosshairs, because Henry Tudor’s arm was draped across her waist.  His nose was buried in her hair, somewhere behind her ear, and his breath fanned softly across her neck.  She could feel his heart beating against her shoulder blade, and she could feel something else pressed to the small of her back.

 

Okay, so Henry Tudor’s arm was around her waist and his decently-sized erection was tucked into her back.  That was unexpected, to say the least.

 

Even more unexpected was the realization that she didn’t want to move, because she liked how this felt.  She liked waking up in his arms, and she liked how he smelled like a combination of himself and the hotel shampoo.  She liked how she fit in his arms, and she liked the soft noises he made when he slept.

 

But then he rolled to his back, still asleep, and she let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.  Slowly, making sure he didn’t wake up, she eased herself out of the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom.  Normally, Lizzie took showers so hot they scalded, but this time she kept the water as chilly to try and shock some sense back into her system.  

 

By the time she finished it had almost worked and Henry was awake and dressed, her tea sitting out by the nightstand.  He smiled tightly at her and they finished packing in silence like nothing had changed.

 

Except for maybe everything.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lizzie almost didn’t see it.  She was having a lazy day, ignoring most of her work emails in favor of catching up on the  _ Real Housewives _ and rolling her eyes at Cecily’s incessant snaps with flower crown filters.  She was sorting through the  _ Times _ to find a sheet to cover the coffee table while she painted her toenails when she saw it; a short article buried in the later pages of the  _ Business  _ section on corporate rumors.  She read it, read it again with narrowed eyes, and then grabbed her purse.

She flew out of her apartment, her vision going hazy with rage, and stomped the six blocks to Henry’s ugly, plate glass building.  The doorman recognized her and swung the door open with a flourish, but she barely even paused to nod her thanks.  She mashed the elevator button angrily and tapped her foot as the elevator rose.

It opened into his flat, because of  _ course _ he would think having the penthouse was classy instead of garish.  Henry looked up from his ipad with alarm, his gaze hardening when he saw her.  “What the fuck is this?” she snapped, shaking the offending sheet of paper.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied drily.  “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  He tossed his tablet down and stood, crossing his arms.  She was momentarily surprised to see he was wearing just a v neck t shirt and jeans, but then again some part of her knew he didn’t spend all his time in suits.  It was just disconcerting to see him out of them, a little bit rumpled but still striking.

Lizzie shook the paper again.   _“Francis Lovell likely out at Westminster Industries_ _due to uncertain loyalties, according to a highly placed source_ ,” she quoted, regaining her footing.  “A highly placed source?  That’s what you’re calling yourself these days?”

His eyes narrowed.  “I wouldn’t leak something like that,” he said, dismissive and arrogant at once.  

“But it’s true,” she accused.

Henry sighed and walked past her to the kitchen, his bare feet making hardly a sound on the polished wood floors.  “Of course it’s true.  He’s been passing information on our patents to the Gloucesters for months.”  He reached for an amber bottle on a high shelf and then two heavy glass tumblers, pouring several fingers worth of whiskey into each.

Lizzie stormed into the kitchen, her fury unabated.  “Francis is a loyal—”

“He’s loyal to your family, you mean,” Henry interrupted.  “Your mother, mostly.  Don’t pretend like you don’t know she’s been reaching out to the Gloucesters about buyout.”  He shoved the glass of whiskey into her hand, clinking them together with a sardonic grin.  “Tell me, Lizzie,” he said after a sip, “will your family  _ ever _ stop trying to get me out?”

“No,” she said primly, and tossed back her whiskey in one gulp.  It burned and she immediately regretted it, but she blinked away the tears that sprang into her eyes and watched his eyebrows lift in something like admiration.

“At least you’re honest,” he said, his lips twitching.  He took her glass and poured her another, but this time she contented herself with sipping.  Already the previous glass was going to her head, because the anger was leaking out of her like a balloon.  Henry watched her carefully, his head tipped to the side.  “Why did you come here, Lizzie?” he asked, and his voice dipped half an octave.

“To yell at you,” she replied with a grin.  She’d been intending for superior, but maybe overshot and landed on flirtatious.

His eyes darkened.  “You could have done that over the phone.  Or waited until Monday,” he pointed out.

“Monday might be too late.  And you could always ignore a phone call.”

Henry advanced on her and she stepped back, needing distance between them and wanting him to come closer all at once.  Her hips bumped into the kitchen island.  “All this, for an employee?  You Yorks are loyal creatures, aren’t you?” he asked.

She set her whiskey down and braced her hands on the granite counter.  “We are,” she said proudly, but her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding.  

“Or did you come here for me?” Henry was just centimeters away, close enough she could feel heat radiating off of him.  He smelled just like she remembered and her traitorous body wanted him to touch her, but her brain maintained a thin semblance of control.

“Why would I ever do that?” she sneered, and his eyes lit up like she’d wandered into his snare.

“You came to my bed,” Henry replied and placed his hands on either side of her body.  “Or don’t you remember that?”

She dropped her gaze to his lips, the air evaporating from her lungs.  “I remember deciding I’d rather sleep on a real mattress rather than a pile of springs,” she said archly.

He leaned forward so his nose was almost brushing hers. “And the next morning?  Or are we not going talk about that?”

Lizzie blinked.   _ So he had been awake _ .  That certainly changed things, but this still felt like a competition and Lizzie didn’t like losing.  So she did what her mother taught her to do when losing— she changed the game.

When she kissed him, Henry froze.  Like he hadn’t been inching closer and closer, like he hadn’t been practically egging her on.  But still her lips met his and he went still for just long enough for her to have doubts.  But then he took her face in his hands and kissed her back and those doubts melted away, replaced by a very inconvenient fire.

Because as it turned out, Henry Tudor was a damn good kisser.  She started this to win and now she was melting into him, all her vague thoughts about his usurpation of her family’s business drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears.  He had her pinned to the counter and still she hooked her fingers into his belt loops and pulled him closer, taking personal offense at any molecule of air that came between them.  His lips were soft and the scruff on his jaw rasped against her palms, and his hands moved from her face to her shoulders and then down to her waist, settling at the curve of her hips.

Without breaking the kiss she lifted herself onto the counter and Henry fit himself between her legs, his fingers tangling in her loose braid.  She hitched her legs around his waist and Henry moved from exploring her mouth to kissing her jaw, then the soft spot behind her ear.  His lips dragged down her neck to her collarbone and she pulled up the hem of his shirt to feel his skin.  He hissed a little when her nails scraped across his stomach, but he grinned against her anyway.

He hefted her into his arms and she let him carry her to his bedroom.   _ He’s the enemy, _ a distant voice whispered, but his lips tasted like whiskey and she kept remembering how it felt to wake up in his arms, so she kissed him until that voice was just a distant memory.  Henry let her down to her feet, his lips swollen and his eyes glassy, and she wondered if he felt just as out of control as she did.

Henry tugged her sleeveless top up and off her head pressed a kiss just above the swell of her breast, right where her heart was pounding.  It made her feel vulnerable so she eased his shirt off to even the score.  She liked the feel of his chest against hers, his hair somehow soft and coarse against her skin, and she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck while his nimble hands undid her bra clasp.  He kissed her shoulder, nudging the strap aside, and then he tossed it away.

He knelt and all the air evaporated from her lungs.  He looked up, his eyes hazy, and she ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed the curve of her stomach.  Henry’s fingers teased at her waistband and she let him skin her jeans and panties down her legs and then she grabbed his sandy curls so she could draw him up for another kiss.  His tongue brushed hers but it wasn’t enough; she pulled him closer and then they lost their balance and toppled over onto his bed.  

Henry huffed out a laugh as they bounced on the mattress and his smile changed his whole face.  It landed like a blow to her heart so she kissed him again, because that was easier, and soon enough the moment passed, the softness in her chest replaced by hunger.  Henry snaked down her body, nipping at her skin as he went.  Lizzie pushed herself up onto her elbows and watched him with with hooded eyes.  He nuzzled at the inside of her knee, kissing up her thigh.  His eyes never left hers, like he was daring her to beg him for more.

She slung her leg over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow in response.  A smirk flickered across his face and then he ran his tongue over her clit, a light, delicate stroke.  Lizzie collapsed back onto the bed and he spread her folds for better access, the pressure just enough to make her moan but also not quite enough, not yet.  The jackass was teasing her, she realized, but at the same time it felt so good she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad.  Still, she curled her fingers into his hair and pulled him just a little closer.  Henry growled a little, the vibrations rippling through her body, and she gasped.

He seemed to stop teasing her after that, his tongue lashing against her clit until she was panting, scrabbling at the bed for purchase and digging her heel into his spine.  But then he stopped entirely and kissed at the hollow of her hip, making her whine with impatience.  Her body was keyed up, on the edge, and now she felt like she was deflating even as something inside of her reached a fever pitch.  She felt him grin and then he was leaning up to kiss her navel.  The gesture was sweet and challenging all at once, and Henry Tudor just might be the death of her, she realized.  Especially once he eased a finger inside of her and returned his tongue to her folds.  

This time he truly did stop teasing her, and he sucked her clit between his lips and curled his finger just right, pitching her over the edge.  She made an embarrassing noise, half moan and half keen, her walls clenching around his finger as she came undone.  Henry stood and grinned, but he didn’t look like he was mocking her— he looked soft; fond, even.  

Lizzie pushed herself up and yanked at his belt loops, impatient despite the fact that her limbs felt heavy and liquid.  Henry chuckled and she clambered to her knees so she could kiss him, her taste still lingering on his lips, and he brought his hands up to hold her face, keeping her in place.  She palmed him through his jeans and he broke the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut and his forehead resting against hers.  She popped the button and reached inside, feeling him grow even harder in her hand.  He let out a breath— more like a gasp— and she circled her fingers around his cock, moving slowly up and down.  

“Christ,” he muttered and his head dropped to her shoulder.  Lizzie bit her lower lip and smiled, feeling powerful and tender all at once.  She twisted her wrist and he swore, tugging her hand away.  “Condom,” he explained, and shucked his jeans.  His erection was outlined in his dark briefs, long and thick, and she obligingly sat back on the bed to watch him.  She liked the planes of his chest and the long line of his legs, the thatch of hair that trailed down his abdomen and disappeared under his waistband.  

She just, might possibly, like  _ him _ .  But she shoved that thought away quickly.

He rummaged through his nightstand and tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth.  He peeled off his briefs, his cock bobbing freely, and Lizzie scooted to the edge of the mattress once more.  She wrapped her fingers around him again, savoring the hot-hard feel of him in her palm, and then let him roll the condom on.

With a playful smirk he pushed her shoulders back and grabbed her under her knees.  She squealed happily when he tugged her to the edge of the mattress and hitched her legs up around his waist.  Without taking his eyes off hers Henry pushed himself inside of her, a slow, deliberate movement that let her adjust to the intrusion.

And then he started moving.  Just slow, shallow thrusts at first, his free hand trailing across her chest, thumbing at her tight nipple.  But Lizzie wanted more; deeper, harder, so she unwound her left leg from his hip and lifted it higher.  He caught on and raised her calf to his shoulder and—  _ there _ .  He hit a spot inside of her that made her vision go black, the stretch in her leg somehow heightening sensation.  

Henry kissed the bone in her ankle, sloppy and careless, and she realized the only problem with this position was she couldn’t kiss  _ him _ , which was an inconvenient realization to say the least.  But then his thumb pressed against her clit and she lost all ability to think.  She just let herself feel it, Henry moving inside of her while the want in her belly wound tighter and tighter.

Her second peak was not as sharp as her first, but instead of a sudden flare it spread out through her in waves, ripples of pleasure that sparked through her veins in a slow beat.  Henry’s thrusts lost their rhythm as she came, his hips snapping faster and harder.  She felt him swell, impossibly hard and impossibly deep inside of her, and then he was coming.  She closed her eyes, wanting to remember exactly how it felt, and for a few precious heartbeats they stayed as they were, joined and sweaty and a tangled mess of limbs.

But then he pulled out, and the full realization of what had just happened settled over her shoulders like a cold, wet blanket.  This couldn’t be undone, couldn’t be ignored like the night in the hotel.  And even worse she wasn’t sure she wanted it to be ignored, because part of her wanted to drag him into his bed and not leave it until forced to by law.  She wanted to order cheap takeaway and eat it on his bedroom floor, laughing like children on a picnic.  She wanted to wake up in his arms again and ride him slowly in the soft morning light while he looked at her with those stormy eyes.

Lizzie squared her shoulders.  “Right then,” she said, a little more crisply than she truly felt.  “Thanks for the fuck.”

Henry stilled.  His was facing away from her as he threw away the condom and she saw the muscles in his back tense.  But when he turned to look at her, his face was amused.  “You’re welcome,” he said, and her heart sank at his chilly tone.

She dressed herself quickly, avoiding eye contact, and Henry stepped back into his jeans.  He didn’t bother with a shirt, either to torment her or because he honestly didn’t care, and she finally located her own top.  She pulled it on and fluffed her hair out from the neckline.  “I should be going then,” she said, as if she’d stopped by with papers for him to sign.  Not ten minutes ago she’d been licking her own arousal from his lips and considering taking his cock in her mouth to return the favor, and now it was like there was a wall of glass between them.

It was better this way, she told herself.

She walked to his kitchen and stepped back into her shoes, Henry following her warily the whole time.  She called the elevator, but before it arrived he grabbed her elbow and spun her around.  He kissed her, slow and sweet, one hand still wrapped around her forearm and the other curling around her jaw.  

Lizzie couldn’t help herself— she kissed him back, her heart thundering in her ears.  The elevator opened, waited, and closed all while they kissed, their tongues brushing leisurely.  Her heart twisted and finally— finally— she broke away and called the elevator again.  Their eyes were locked together, their fingers twined, so this time, she didn’t let the wall descend between them.  “I’ll see you around,” she said gently. 

He let her go and she stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby, still grinning stupidly.  “Have a good night, Lizzie,” he said, and his smile was pure and light. 

The elevator doors slid closed and she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same.

  
  
  



End file.
